The Apology
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Trapper must miss another social occasion and finds that the woman he is dating is far from pleased when he finally shows up.


Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author. The story may not be reproduced or printed elsewhere w/o the express permission of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Apology

She sat upright, her heart pounding; it always terrified her when a phone rang late at night-always bad news. She glanced at the clock and saw it was 2:25 a.m.. and the caller I.D. said "J McIntyre."

"Damn him," she said to herself, "he's calling to say he's sorry." He was always sorry when he let her down. "After almost a year together," she thought to herself," you'd think I'd learn not to rely on him."

Trapper had promised that he would go to the poetry reading at the university with her; it wasn't too much to ask. She had been to all his boring banquets and fund-raising events and even spent a great deal of money for two formal gowns to attend them-he had offered to pay but she was too proud to take his money. Besides, it smacked of being a "kept woman." And although she didn't hate opera, she definitely needed a libretto and she had practically yawned through a few productions all because he liked opera and asked her to go with him-and she would go anywhere just to be with him. But obviously, he didn't feel the same way.

First he had called and said that he was held up; there had been a multi-car pile up on the freeway and accident victims were pouring in. He told her to go ahead and that he would meet her at the university. So she went alone and saved a place for him beside her, but he never showed. She kept checking her phone over and over all evening, but there was no message from him and then she became more and more angry until finally she left the reading before the reception, swearing to herself that she was through with him for good. He had done this to her one too many times.

And now he was calling to apologize.

"Hello, Trapper," she said and hoped the annoyance showed in her voice.

"I know it's late and you're probably angry, but don't hang up, please." He waited a few seconds and when she didn't hang up, he continued. "I'm sorry I missed the reading and I'm standing right outside your front door. I thought calling you would be better than ringing the bell." He waited and heard nothing from her. Then, tentatively, he said, "May I come in?" Her end went dead. He didn't know whether he should stay or leave but before he could decide, the door opened and she stood there. He thought that she was the only woman who could arouse desire in him while wearing a plaid, flannel night shirt.

"What do you want" It's 2:30 in the morning and I was sleeping until you so rudely awoke me." She blocked the doorway with her body.

"Well, if you'll let me in, I'll tell you."

She stepped aside and motioned him in with her arm and then closed the door. She stood and crossed her arms while waiting to hear what he had to say.

"I know you're angry, I'm sorry. There wasn't any time to call you and let you know. I really am sorry." He held his hands out, palms up, practically pleading with her to forgive him.

"You always do this, Trapper! You always say you'll do something, be somewhere and then you don't show or even call to cancel. You promised me! I used to blame Melanie for divorcing you but I'm beginning to understand why, if this is what your marriage was like!"

And as the words were coming out of her mouth, she wished she wasn't saying them-but they poured out and she couldn't stop herself. Trapper just stood there looking as if someone had slapped him….and she had, but with words.

"Well," he said quietly, "I suppose there's no point then in my apologizing any further, is there?" His voice was flat and she suddenly noticed how exhausted he looked, how weary he seemed. "I seem to be the cause of quite a few tragic events, don't I? God forbid you should have to go to a damn poetry reading alone. I suppose that I should have walked out of emergency-I'm sure they would have understood that hearing some pompous ass read useless poetry is far more important than attempting to save peoples' lives. So I'll just go now…if that's all right with you, of course?"

"Whatever you want to do," she answered. "I don't know why all of a sudden you're considering me? Please, suit yourself." She felt that things had gotten out of control, but she didn't know how to stop; she didn't want him to leave.

Trapper looked at her closely, looking to see if he could get some hint from her as to what he should say, but finding nothing in her cold expression, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

She stared at the front door and went cold inside; she was afraid now. She had gone too far. She had said cruel things to him, things he didn't deserve, but she had worked her grievances over and over in her mind so many times all evening, that she wanted to pummel him with insults and remind him of how many times he had disappointed her. And now she didn't know what to do. Should she wait and see if he called her? What if he didn't? Her mind raced. Should she be the one to call him in the morning? But what if he didn't answer? Or worse yet, wouldn't accept her apology. She felt as if she had to stop him before he left and she threw open her door and he was standing on the front step; he hadn't left. She threw herself into his arms and he held her close, lifting her off the ground.

"Oh, I needed someone to hug me right now, thank you," Trapper said. He nuzzled her while she stroked the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Trapper, I'm sorry. I was being petty. I'm so sorry."

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay. Let's go inside." And he swept her up and carried her in, kicking the door shut behind him. He deposited her on the couch and sat down beside her.

"Trapper, I didn't mean a thing I said…please forgive me for that remark about Melanie and…"

He held her face in his hands. "Don't. You know I'll forgive you anything," he said and kissed her gently.

She noticed that he did look tired. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. He shook his head, no. "How about some wine? We still have some of that bottle you brought over last week."

He gave a small laugh. "You know, that would be nice. Thank you." He watched her walk into the kitchen to pour him the glass and thought about what a nice legs she had. She was smart and funny and most of the time, reasonable. But he didn't blame her for being angry. He had promised her he would be there and he hadn't been and that wasn't the first promise he hadn't kept..

"What's wrong, Trapper?" She noticed again that he had a sadness about him and it seemed to go beyond being tired. She sat down beside him and while he drank his wine, she attempted to get him to talk.

"I'm just really worn out from sugery and our arguing hasn't helped any." He leaned over and kissed her and she thought that his mouth tasted sweet from the wine he had drunk.

She apologized for her pettiness once more and he gave a small laugh and kissed her again. He told her the matter was past and better left there. Then he suggested she go to bed; he just needed to sit up awhile-to wind down, relax and drink his wine. He would be in later. She stared at him trying to figure out what it was that had disturbed him so much but he gave no clue except that he had circles under his eyes and he seemed to slump a little on the couch. She said she would stay with him and started to curl up next to him but he asked her again to please go to bed, that he felt guilty for waking her up. So she asked him why he had come over if it wasn't to be with her and he said that he didn't want to be alone-that he wanted to be where she was. He just needed to know she was there and that she cared for him. Then he told her again that he would come to bed later.

So she went back to bed and could hear the low sound of the television. Something was wrong but she knew that he wouldn't tell her until he was ready so she allowed herself to fall asleep. But sometime later she became aware that he was in bed with her, that he had finally come in and was next to her. She looked at the clock and saw that it was almost 4:00 am. She turned on her side and raised herself on one elbow to look at him; he wasn't asleep-just staring into the darkness.

He turned to her. "I tried not to wake you-I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. It seems neither of us were meant to sleep much tonight." She smiled at him and when he reached out for her, she lay her head on his chest and wrapped one arm across him, her hand on his neck. She heard him sigh deeply and with the hand of the arm around her, he stroked her with his fingers.

"It was a bad night in surgery with all the accident victims," he said.

Now he was ready to tell her. She knew he wanted to tell her, to tell someone about the incident. He hadn't felt he could tell her earlier; he would have broken down. But even if he couldn't tell her, he had felt he had to get to her, had to see her face, hear her voice-he had to be where life and death weren't tantamount. tAnd on the drive over, he had kept picturing her in his mind's eye, how she would hold him and comfort him, but then they had argued. But finally she had hugged him, held him and he felt all the pain that he had been bottling up, that he had suppressed, come surging back and apparently, he thought, she had felt how close to the edge he had been because she didn't push him, didn't accuse him of not sharing his thoughts with her, She had waited and had patience. And now he needed to tell her.

"I lost a patient on the table."

She waited; she didn't know what to say and she suddenly felt so ashamed of herself and the way she had behaved. Then she said the only thing she could think of, "I'm sorry, Trapper. It must have been awful for you."

"He was almost J.T.'s age and I could just see J.T. lying there and not only him, but all the soldiers I had patched up-all of them, young and broken so I had to try to save him, even when I saw what a mess he was when I opened his chest-perforated lungs, crushed ribs and his chest kept filling with blood. We'd drain it off and it would fill up again until he just died right there. So young and he just died. Gone. It could have been J.T. You know it's odd, in war time, triage would have left him to die, put him aside, but now, at the hospital, he was put first-but it made no difference. I made no difference."

He held her tightly now and she couldn't see his face but she could hear his ragged breathing and the quaver in his voice and she could picture his expression and hear that sadness and weltschmerz-world weariness, that came into his voice and made it dull and flat. It was the way he protected himself-removed himself from the situation. He had told her once that he had always referred to it as his survival mode, his emotional survival.

She couldn't think of anything to say, so instead, she raised herself on her elbow and kissed him. She looked at the sadness in his eyes and she was overwhelmed with compassion for him, for all that he had suffered over the years, for all the death and grief and suffering that he lived with everyday. How trivial the poetry reading seemed now, how unimportant her anger at his absence.

"Come to me, " she said, and he moved into her open arms, laying his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her, clinging to her, and she crooned soft words to him and stroked the back of his head and neck. "Go to sleep, my darling, go to sleep. I'll be here…just sleep."

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so." He sighed deeply and she knew that he would sleep now.

~FINIS~


End file.
